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At My Grandfather’s Funeral, a Stranger Handed Me a Note – When I Read It, I Laughed Because Grandpa Had Tricked Us
Dahlia, 18, feels alone at Grandpa’s burial while her family rages over the meager $1 inheritance. However, Dahlia is drawn into a mystery that only she can unravel after a stranger gives her a covert message.
With my hands clasped in the pockets of my too-small black dress, I stood at the graveyard and listened to the wind ruffle and the priest’s droning words.
Everyone else in the family appeared more interested in glaring at one another than in grieving for Grandpa, even though this was the darkest day of my life.
The cold October air was dense with their harshness, which I could feel. Each one costs one dollar. Grandpa left us only that in his will, and they were incensed. But me? I wasn’t upset. Simply put, hollow.
It was not intended for Grandpa to be absent. The only person who ever saw me was him; no one ever noticed the mess or the extra child. When no one else cared, he let me in.
I gazed at the flowers that were lying on his casket. Among the white flowers that everyone else had placed on the coffin, the crimson rose I had sent him stood out.
Aunt Nancy growled, “One dollar,” behind me. “Just one fucking dollar! This is what we get when the dude was loaded?
Uncle Vic laughed bitterly. “All right? I’m positive that the vengeful old man did it on purpose.
Mom mumbled, “Typical Dad,” with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Dahlia was his little pet, and he always played favorites. I bet she has something we’re unaware of.
Aunt Nancy’s glass-sharp eyes slashed at me. Dahlia, what did he leave you? Anything? Don’t pretend that you didn’t receive anything.
I tensed up. “I got the same as all of you.”
Mom’s fingers gripped my shoulder tightly. “Are you sure?” she said quietly. “You were with him all the time. Perhaps he mentioned something to you. Dahlia, give it some serious thought. You must share whatever he gave you with your family.
Grandpa’s silly tales about long-lost riches and the butterscotch candy he always carried in his coat pocket flooded back.
“One day, kiddo, I’m leaving you a treasure,” dad would occasionally wink at me. A true gem.” However, it was only a joke or game between us.
I looked back to the casket and shook my head. Grandpa’s love, his stories, and a place that was more like home than my real home were what I received. Those items were more valuable than cash, and I can’t—”
“Nobody cares about any of that!” Mom lost her temper. “Remember, girl! How did all of his money end up?
I gave a shrug. I genuinely didn’t care and didn’t know the answer to her query. Grandpa had left. He was my friend, my confidant, and my haven. They only worried about attaching a price tag to his passing, even though I had lost the most significant person in the world.
Vic whispered, “She knows something,” loud enough for me to hear.
As if they could extract secrets from me with enough effort, their voices twisted together, accusing and plotting. However, I didn’t have any secrets that would increase their earnings.
They turned away from the grave and rushed away as soon as they understood there would be no fortune. As they left, I could still hear them arguing and snapping at one another like vultures. I felt ill from it.
“You must be Dahlia.”
A woman, perhaps in her 60s, with gentle eyes and a battered leather purse thrown over her shoulder, caught my attention as I looked up. She seemed to know something we didn’t, as evidenced by her quiet and reticent smile.
She replied, “I was a friend of your grandpa’s,” leaning in as though we were planning together. “He asked me to give you this.”
She muttered, “Don’t let anyone see it, especially your family,” as she placed a folded piece of paper into my palm before I could reply.
She seemed unreal, almost dreamy, and then she was gone, engulfed by the mourners before I could say anything. As I unfurled the note, my heart thumped in my chest.
Southern Railway Station, locker number 111.
I stayed motionless for a moment, the words hazy before my eyes. I suddenly realized that was Grandpa’s “treasure.” I couldn’t help but chuckle, even though it was inappropriate and uncontrollable. Then he wasn’t kidding.
I lay in bed that night and gazed up at the ceiling. Like a secret, the note was hidden beneath my pillow. Grandpa’s joking yet assured voice reverberated in my head: “Locker number 111… Kiddo, there’s treasure within!”
Something between optimism and despair weighed heavily on my chest. What if this wasn’t a pointless endeavor? What would happen if Grandpa had actually left me anything, tucked away out of sight?
I kept thinking about it until I was unable to handle it any longer. I had to know what the locker contained.
The following day, I made a taxi call. It was the first action I took upon waking up. I heard Mom murmuring on the phone about Grandpa’s will as I slipped passed the kitchen, presumably attempting to elicit pity or money from anyone who would listen.
The cold morning air slapped my skin as I tightened my jaw and slipped out the door.
It seemed like the longest twenty minutes of my life during the travel to Southern Railway Station.
As the taxi navigated through little streets, past walls covered with graffiti, and past vacant coffee shops that were just beginning to open, my knee jumped with anxious energy. The driver gave me a quick look in the rearview mirror but remained silent.
I requested him to wait for me while I got out of the car when we eventually drew into the station. I walked into the train station, holding the note closely.
The stench of stale popcorn and diesel filled the station. Commuters, tourists, and strangers with places to go hurried past me in all directions.
I paused at the door, feeling suddenly insignificant and uncomfortable. Grandpa’s calm, comforting voice then drifted back into my head: “Real treasure, kiddo.”
I could hear my heart thumping as I inhaled deeply and made my way to the lockers. The wall was lined with rows of metal boxes, all of them the same color, dented, and a little rusty.
I looked at the numbers till I came upon 111.
Taking the folded note out of my pocket, I reached. They taped the key to the back. I inserted it into the lock after peeling it off with shaky fingers.
I freaked out when it jammed for a moment. Then, however, — click! The door swung open as the lock turned.
There was a duffel bag inside. It was heavy, dingy, and ancient. I took it out and unzipped it with trembling hands.
There was money in the sack. It comes in bunches and bundles!
I let out a gasp, my head spinning. Surely it couldn’t be real? I retrieved a stack of crisp $100 dollars and flipped through them. It must have contained at least $150,000.
Another note, written in Grandpa’s sloppy handwriting, was concealed inside the bag:
I have kept everything for you, my dear grandchild. Kiddo, take it and go free. I’ve always believed in you, even when the rest of the family may not agree.
I clutched the note to my chest as tears clouded my eyes and a knot formed in my throat. It was more than just money. Freedom was a means of escape.
Grandpa was always aware of my desperate wish to leave this family. And now he had deceived everyone else while providing me with just what I needed!
My pulse thumping in time with my feet, I zipped the bag closed, flung it over my shoulder, and left the station.
Everything was bathed in a gentle, golden glow as the early morning sun began to break through the clouds. I felt light for the first time in years.
I gazed out the window as the city came to life during the cab trip back. Now I had choices. No more being the scapegoat for the family, no more being neglected or treated like an afterthought, and no more stuffy family dinners.
I could go. I could construct something new.
As much as the idea delighted and frightened me, Grandpa’s words reverberated in the back of my mind: “Live free, kiddo.”
I made up my mind when the cab arrived at my place. I had no intention of remaining. Not one more minute!
Going inside didn’t even occur to me. I took out my phone, purchased a ticket to any location, and instructed the driver to go directly to the airport.
I grinned for the first time in days, holding the duffel bag on my lap and keeping Grandpa’s message securely in my pocket.
I had freedom. And I understood exactly what that meant for the first time in my life.
